To Kill A King
by Don't Abandon Hope
Summary: The world as he knew it had ended in dragon fire; King Evander makes a stand against Galbatorix wondering what it will take to kill a king
1. Chapter 1

A/N : _I must be going mad; why start up yet ANOTHER multi-chapter story? Ah well this one shouldn't be as long as the others (she says ...) Anyhooo read and enjoy and yeah I hope I have you hooked ... *insert evil laugh here* Oh and I'll say this now before I forget; don't expect updates as regular as TBF okay? Have fun :)_

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_The forest was burning._

_All around him, he could see the black flames of the Oath-Breaker's stolen dragon consuming the pines and filling the air with smoke. Screams and cries of anguish echoed around him along with the metal clang of steel as swords and spears clashed. It was mayhem. Pandemonium. Chaos. A flickering branch cracked from its trunk and went crashing to the earth, crushing two elves as they fought to free a third from a flame consumed-home. Their screams were cut short by a second branch following suit._

_In a bemused stupor he walked through the streets watching as his city and his home was burned to the ground and reduced to nothing more than ash. This was the end. The end of everything. And what could he do? Fight? Why – what was the point? They were all going to die. The Oath-Breaker had won._

_The fire gripped the trees, spreading out like a disease as it sought more fuel to consume and spread and burn. It was all burning. It was a hanging offense, to start a fire and let it get out of hand, in Ellesméra … though he'd not had to carry out any such punishment for nigh on three centuries now; no one was stupid enough to risk their beloved forest. And yet. Here it was. Burning._

_It was funny. All those thousands of mighty dragons who'd visited the leafy home of the elves … and not one Rider nor dragon had ever lifted a hand against them, nor had they violated the rules and laws of the Forest. Until now. But of course … everything had changed when he had come. That False Rider … that liar … cheat … Oath-Breaker! How dared he burn down Ellesméra! Did he think he could get away with it?_

_But his heart sank. Of course he could get away with it._

_Humans – former soldiers of the Royal Army of Langfield now pressed into service of what was being called the 'Empire' – burst from the brush and trees in red tunics and long pikes and spears and wielding swords and axes and bows. They tore his people from their beds – those that were miraculously still sleeping amidst the burning – and slaughtered them were they knelt. Others were herded like cattle to the main square. He could see his own warriors valiantly attempting to quench the fires with water and spells but it was all for naught. There were too many dragons. Those not attending to the flames were trying to repel the invaders, but the elves had been caught off guard. They were too weak._

_The world spun. Tilting alarmingly until he was no longer striding through a burning Ellesméra. No, instead he was standing up on the tower over-looking the glorious home of the Riders laid out before him with his friend, Vrael, standing beside him smiling in the setting sun. Then the world went dark and the Black Demon came, blotting out the sun._

_And that glorious city began to burn. Dragons and Riders all flew out in desperation to fight the fourteen of their own who'd betrayed them. But few came back. He saw them all. He heard the anguish at bonds being torn apart after years … bonds he could not begin to understand or comprehend except for in the vaguest, simplest of ways._

_Before the vast gate a sapphire dragon fell. She crumpled to the floor as a red dragon, almost as if he were made of blood, roared in victory. Someone cried out in agony and crumpled to the floor in utter despair. Another someone was laughing. How could they be laughing? It was slaughter! This was not something to be laughed about!_

_Doru Areaba was burning. Burning!_

_The stone walls around him rose up in flame. The Black Demon swooped in from above and his Rider laughed. Laughed and pointed a sword at him, speaking words of power he had no right to and the walls rose higher in flame as he began to fall. Tumbling through the air into a vast pit of black flames. He cried out in despair as the laughing filled his head, echoing through his mind into the vaults of himself._

_The flames merged together to form burning trees and he was kneeling, hidden among his people in the square before Tialdarí Hall as they watched the Black Demon land. The Oath-Breaker got down off the dragon's back as others landed too. Until they were surrounded by fourteen of the most vicious beasts there ever could be. Their Riders all grotesque, terrifying and cruel reflections of the men and women they had once been. Honourable. Every last one of them. At one point, he told himself, they had all been good._

_The Knotted Throne had been dragged from the Hall and the False Rider sat down upon it as if it were his. It was not! Kneeling among his people, he struggled not to draw attention to himself and cry out that the Oath-Breaker had no right to sit on that Throne._

_His heart hammered in his chest as the Rider of the Blood Dragon strode into view dragging the queen by her hair. The princess, barely more than four winters old, was squirming and crying out in the arms of a woman who looked like a nightmare. Like a mother gone wrong. The princess was crying out for her father and crying out for her mother._

_The elves around him bristled and started yelling slaughter. The Forsworn and their beasts fought back the crowd and not a few were incinerated where they stood. In fact, no sooner as that had happened, did the entire front three rows get consumed in dragon fire. The crowd of elves forced to their knees were silenced._

_All at once, Ellesméra ceased burning. Like light been snuffed from a candle. The Oath-Breaker got to his feet and smiled coldly right at him even as he reached for his sword. The Blood Dragon's Rider yanked back the Queen's head and exposed her throat even as the princess was cast down at her feet. She tried crawling to her mother, but the Black Demon growled and she cried and screamed in terror._

_The Forsworn laughed._

_He was being held down by two more of the Traitorous Riders and the Oath-Breaker was grinning at him as he was dragged to where his daughter and his Queen were being held. Fear gripped at his gut and the flames suddenly flared up around the forest again, bathing them all in their light. The False Rider looked around at them in mild interest before darting forwards and swiftly removing the Queen's head from her shoulders in a single motion._

_The princess screamed again while the forsworn laughed and he cried out even as her body was cast aside for the beasts to feast upon. The Rider who'd been holding the Queen picked up her head and tossed it neglectfully in the direction of the Blood Dragon. He snapped it out of the air in a single bite and she was gone. His Queen was gone and Ellesméra was burning. _

_As king he was made to watch. The Oath-Breaker had each and every elf murdered before his eyes and the eyes of his child. She was cowering in terror and he couldn't escape from the inevitable. He swore he heard swords clashing and dragons roaring. But Oromis had come too late. The instant he and his golden dragon had appeared over the horizon, the Black King had ensured his child met the same fate as her mother._

_In numb despair he watched the Forsworn tear down that golden dragon and his Rider before he was grabbed in a dragon's claws and lifted high up into the sky. The Black Demon reached the moon and the Oath-Breaker spoke then, reaching and grabbing him by the shirt and holding him over the land._

"_What does it take to kill a king I wonder?"_

_Then he let go._

_Evander went spiralling, tumbling, crashing through the air towards the ground. From the height he could see that it wasn't just Ellesméra burning. The whole world had been consumed by the Black Demon's flames and he was hurtling towards that pit of endless despair and torment. The flames taunted him, haunted him, with the faces of those he'd just seen murdered. He could hear their cries and their pleas. The world had ended. It was over. It was over. He cried out, a yell escaping his lips as he dived towards the solid wall of flames beneath him._

_He closed his eyes, ready for the impact. Above him the Oath-Breaker laughed._

Evander sat bolt upright. Sweat covering his limbs and his heart hammering in his chest. He heaved great gasping breaths and struggled to calm himself and tear himself out of the nightmare and into reality. Still trapped within the torments of his mind, half convinced it had all been true and so utterly real he cried out in anguish and went immediately to reach for his blade. Steady gentle hands touched his back and then his shoulders and then his chest as she pulled him into her.

Her touch soothed him and he let her pull him back into the bed as his body still trembled and shuddered with the night torment of dreams. _The world is sound. They are safe._ But he had to know that. He couldn't just …

Without warning he swung his legs over the side of the bed and tossed back the blankets. Ignoring her cry of, "Evander!" the king of the elves, King of Du Weldenvarden, King of the Knotted Throne, reached for his sword and drew it before getting up and marching to the door. "Not again …" he head Islanzadí sigh as she too rose from the sheets to follow him.

Stalking down the corridor he ignored the guards and reached his destination. He firmly placed his hand upon the handle and lifted the latch, before pushing the door open. Instantly he was blasted backwards as the wards attacked him; denying him entry. Evander crumpled into the wall opposite as Islanzadí dismantled the protection they had around that room and he was able to stand.

"Must you do this to yourself every night?" She asked in a gentle voice, reaching for his sword and taking it firmly from his grasp. Evander watched as Islanzadí handed it to the head of the guard. "At least I had the foresight to invent a way to keep the disturbance from waking her. She needs rest; and having her father come haring into her room each night with sword drawn is enough to terrorise her!"

Now she was scolding him. In front of his guards no less. Couldn't she have waited until they were in private at least? Surely she knew by now that the nightmares were a regular occurrence … that they weren't going away no matter how many spells and so forth Oromis invented and had cast. Evander suddenly deflated and sunk to the floor in a dejected heap.

"Forgive me," he murmured to his knees.

Islanzadí crouched beside him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Always." She kissed his cheek and held him there for a while. The guards had with drawn to the end of the corridor to give them privacy, though they were still shooting their king inconspicuous looks just in case he demanded back his blade.

"What has become of me?" Evander asked, turning to the love of his life.

She didn't know.

"Come." Islanzadí got to her feet and pulled him up with her. "Your mind will not be at ease until you have seen she is well and safe and whole. Come." He let her guide him into the room he'd attempted to march into sword drawn.

There, upon the small bed beneath the window that had been covered with a light drape to soften the glare of the moon, lay his daughter. Snug asleep – as all elven children were wont to do at such a tender age – and blissfully unaware of her father's tormented dreams and fears. A warm glowing smile lightened Islanzadí's face as she beheld their child, as it always did, and he found himself smiling too. Yes. Yes his family was safe.

There was nothing to be worried about.

She sat upon the edge of Arya's bed and stroked her soft black hair – as dark and as lustrous as her mother's – before placing a kiss upon the child's brow. On impulse, Evander gathered his snoozing daughter in his arms and lifted her from the bed. He turned and carried her out of her small chamber, back up the corridor and into his own chambers he shared with Islanzadí. When he reached the bed, he turned, but she was already there, turning back the sheets and taking Arya from him as they settled back down in the bed.

She murmured; "It's hard enough getting her to stay in her own bed as is. I thought tonight was going to be the first."

Evander stroked his daughter's fair cheek before kissing her lightly. She smelled of cut grass and crushed pineneedles and fresh air and of life. The way a little girl should smell; sweet and full of hope and joy. But he didn't respond to his queen. It was right; the little pest had him wrapped neatly round her little finger and she knew all she had to do was look at him imploringly with her emerald eyes stretched wide and her bottom lip sticking out and the best look of innocence she could muster and his heart would melt. Any heart would melt.

"I need to know you are both here with me. Both safe."

Across the child's head Islanzadí gazed at him intently. "For months have you been plagued by these occurrences. Will you not share them with me? How can I help you if you will not let me?"

He set his jaw but didn't answer. Irritation flashed across Islanzadí's face and her look became hard as she unconsciously tightened her arms round Arya and pulled her daughter in close, away from where he lay. "You told Oromis!"

Evander rolled onto his back. "I see the world end in flames." He said softly. "The Oath-Breaker and his Forsworn burn the world to ash and I see every one of my subjects murdered before me. I see you … I see Arya … I see you both die at his hand. Then I fall – I fall into the flames and I wake in this bed trembling like Arya does after dreaming she got lost in the woods."

"Evander … 'tis only a dream my love."

He turned to her, wrapped his arms round them both and held them tightly as he could. "I know that. But they will not fade … not while that Oath-Breaker and his Black Demon still roam about these lands unchecked."

Islanzadí's voice was low and she was close to slumber once again – to the restful wakefulness of twilight – as she said; "But we are safe here. He cannot break our wards."

Her rhythmic breathing told him she'd succumbed to the fatigue and he smiled as he beheld the two who held his heart in perfect balance. His queen and his daughter. Before he too succumbed into a fitful rest, he whispered, "It is only a matter of time …" Evander didn't know if she heard him and he didn't ask. It was one matter they would forever disagree upon and neither wanted an argument that could not be resolved.

Again the Oath-Breaker's voice echoed through his mind, though he'd never actually heard it in person before. _"What does it take to kill a king I wonder?"_

What _did_ it take?


	2. Chapter 2

Why was he king of a race of cowards? Had Vrael's death shaken them that badly that sitting and doing nothing was their solution to the issue? Evander strode out of the council chamber, slamming the door shut behind him so violently that it rattled on its hinges. The guards bustled into formation around him, the rattle of their armour and weapons irritated the king, but he knew they'd not take kindly to being ordered away. The tramp of armoured feet and the clink of chainmail sounded out-of-place in such a fine hall as the one of Tialdarí; armour and weaponry belonged on fields of battle and in war, not in corridors grown from the living trees themselves. They certainly didn't belong in his ancestral home.

Evander wasn't sure where he was going; all he knew was that he'd grown tired of hiding in the shadows while the rest of the world burned. Now was the time for action – to stand up to this pretender and say no; to tell the Oath-Breaker and his Black Demon that the world would not tremble in fear, nor would it submit to the vile rule forced upon them. Vrael had been his friend – a brother almost … Striding out of the Hall, Evander let his feet dictate the path; he dashed aside an overhanging branch but his ill thoughts would not leave him be.

So many Riders and their dragons dead … in fact the only remains of that once proud order were trembling in the outskirts of Ellesméra as they tried to come to terms with what had happened to them; Glaedr had lost a leg while Oromis – Oromis had lost the ability to manipulate and control magic, now only the smallest of spells could he cast, and even then they sometimes escaped him. It was a crime – that one so old and so good and so wise had to suffer the wrath of a madman … but then Oromis _had_ been the one to convince the elders to deny Galbatorix a second egg.

_Galbatorix._

The name sent a shiver down his spine – such a repulsive name; what mother would chose a name such as that for her son? But then Evander remembered the False Rider was human and so no doubt the father or some other family member had involved themselves in the decision to name him. In elven society, a mother had the right to name a son and a father the right to name a daughter. As it always did, a small smile lightened his lips when he thought of his little Arya – no doubt she was running whichever poor soul had been tasked with minding her for the day ragged. But even the thought of his sweet little princess could not quieten the turmoil in his mind that seemed determined not to let him think on anything other than the problem currently sitting on the throne in Ilirea.

His thoughts turned to Brom. On top of recovering from what had happened with the Forsworn, Oromis and Glaedr were now worrying over the fate of their former pupils; Brom and Saphira. Word had it that they'd reached Doru Areaba and perished in the bloodshed that had occurred there when the Oath-Breaker had shattered the gates; the only confirmation that Evander had been able to give to the broken Rider and his dragon was that Saphira had perished at the hand of Morzan and his dragon. Evander shuddered as he recollected the howl of anguish Glaedr had let lose when given this news for Däthedr had scryed the city and thus they'd been able to determine at least some of those that had perished therein. There had been no doubt that it was Saphira's vast body laying broken and clearly dead before the shattered gates – there was no other dragon whose appearance could hope to match her savage beauty. As for Brom … that was anyone's guess; Däthedr had not seen his body when he scryed Doru Areaba, but that did not mean it was not there, buried under rubble and the corpses of other dragons and Riders that Galbatorix had slain without remorse or mercy.

_Brom … if you are alive my friend, I beg of you not to succumb to your grief. At least not yet. I need your aid my friend. We need to end this once and for all._ But where, exactly, Brom could be was anyone's guess and they had not the resources or the means to send out search parties for the missing Rider. Evander had tried, but his council had over ruled him saying it was too dangerous and that there was no evidence to suggest that Brom was even alive. Why waste lives just to give an old man some peace of mind?

"Because that 'old man' as you call him is Oromis Stormbringer – wisest of all the Riders and we owe his order everything! The least we can do is –"

"You're family owes him, you mean," Yendi had spat. "It is your House and your friendship with the Riders that has lead us to the point of extinction!"

It was only the calming presence of his queen at his side that stopped Evander from running the petty lord through there and then. "I am of the House of Argetzí, she who was the mate of Eragon Peacebringer and mother to his three sons; Drénn, Jenvár and Yirdís. Yirdís and Jenvár were chosen as Riders and the slain by the Urgal chieftain Farzgth. Drénn fathered a son who in turn fathered another and so on until I was born. And I am your _king_! If I say we owe someone then we owe that person until I say otherwise. _I am your king!_" The argument had raged on until Evander had stormed out of the room in utter disgust.

His aimless march through the forest brought him to the edge of a clearing. Grown from the trunks of four tall trees, one of which had a stream running through its roots, was a single-roomed hut. The hulking form of a glistening golden dragon lay curled to one side of the hut seemingly asleep and Evander could clearly see the sorry stump that remained of Glaedr's front left foreleg. A wisp of blue-grey wood smoke trailed from the chimney betraying the fact that the occupant was not elsewhere. But Evander was not in the right frame of mind for company so instead he strode to the edge of the Crags and looked down at the sea of pines hundreds – maybe so many as thousands – of feet below.

The weary king closed his eyes and lifted his chin as a breeze ruffled past him and flung itself into the wide open. He could hear the birds chirping their songs, calling for mates and warning off those who would steal those mates from them. He could hear the chattering squirrels as they jumped from branch to branch, racing and playing as they foraged for nuts and berries. Evander could hear the wind rustling the pineneedles and hear the subtle creak as trunks swayed in the wind. The stream gurgled and giggled over rocks in the bed as it trickled over the edge of the cliff face and down into the forest below. There were other sounds too – Glaedr's rhythmic breaths and the footfalls as one of his guard members paced, the armour rattling and the weaponry clattering.

It had rained while he'd been stuck inside; the air had that fresh smell that only came in the aftermath of rain; the richness of the earth suffusing the air with an almost irony tang along with the scent of wet cut grass and the saturated bark of the pines lending that spicy aroma. A puff of wind carried the smoke from Oromis's hut and hidden within the sweet yet chocking ash-filled cloud was the smell of backing bread and roasting hazelnuts.

How long Evander stood there he didn't know; he wasn't meditating for his mind remained his own, yet he was aware through his other senses of his surroundings even if he did not notice the Rider emerge from his hut and shoo away the guards back to the city. Only when a loud squeal of delight and mischief rent the air did the king stir and glance over his shoulder; Oromis was standing in the doorway to his hut. The Rider appeared older and frailer every time Evander saw him. A haggard-looking woman with silver hair escaping its bonds, was staring with a forlorn expression at the stream where Evander saw, with some amusement, his daughter busy dirtying the clean new dress Islanzadí had forced her into that morning as she did her uttermost best to catch a frog before it hopped away. Evander waved Arya's minder for the day off as he strode over to where Oromis had pulled up two chairs before a table in the shade of an old oak. He sat and gazed at his daughter though his mind was full of thoughts and worries and wonderings.

"What are you thinking, my friend?" Oromis asked after a long moment of silence.

Evander stirred and then frowned as he turned away from where his daughter was playing to look down at the table. "Long ago," he said, "when I was still young and foolish, I yearned for nothing more than to be a hero … without knowing in truth what a hero was." Evander looked up at the Rider opposite him. "I thought, as any boy does, it was great deeds of strength and feats of magic, defeating evil and enemies no one else could … laying waste to entire armies single-handedly was what made a hero. Now I think I understand it a little better Oromis. As you say, age brings wisdom to even the wisest of us," Oromis smiled gently and gestured for Evander to continue. "A grower of turnips, or a shaper of clay … a poor farm boy or a lowly merchant … anyone can be a hero if they strive more for others than for themselves."

"Wise words indeed, my king."

"Yet if this pretender is to be vanquished," Evander continued, gazing out across the Crags, "I fear it will take a hero from legend to vanquish him – one who _can_ slay a thousand men single-handed and who knows magic and power greater than anything else."

Oromis shifted in his chair. "Galbatorix may be many things, but he is – and will remain – only human."

"A human who has stolen the power of the dragons!" Evander shot back at the Rider, before regretting his words the instant he saw pain in Oromis's eyes. "Forgive me; I spoke in haste."

"And yet," he said, "you are right. No eldunarí remains that is not in Galbatorix's clutches; 'twas why he went to Doru Areaba in the first place, not to destroy all the Rider – although he certainly did not pass up that opportunity – but so he could plunder the stores we had of eldunarí and claim their power as his own."

Arya chose that moment to give out a loud squeal as she toppled into the stream, which woke up Glaedr. He lifted his huge head – four times Arya's size – and gazed at the dripping wet little girl before engulfing her in a puff of smoke to let her know he didn't at all appreciate being woken, and that because it was her, she was forgiven. He then laid his head down on the ground beside where she was playing and seemed content in listening to her meaningless chatter.

It seemed that Arya's innocence, her naivety and the purity of her outlook on life had a calming effect on the battered, broken and injured Rider and his dragon. Oromis and Glaedr were content to just sit and let her be and watch her for being with his daughter, Evander realised, one could believe the world to be as good and perfect as she believed it to be. Being in his daughter's presence also reminded them all that evil and darkness was only ever a temporary thing for the sun would always rise tomorrow morn in the east before following the same course it always took and always would take.

He did not want Arya to be troubled by the perils of the world – did not want her innocence and her optimism to be dashed away by broken dreams and shattered promises. He did not want her to be tainted by this war with the Oath-Breaker … but he knew that would be inevitable. The wards upon the forest were strong, and it may take years – even with all that stolen power – before Galbatorix broke them, but break them he would for nothing lasted forever. Eventually the sea would reclaim the land – the mountains crumble to dust and the desert freeze over in ice. Nothing was fixed and everything could change in the smallest of moments to the point where no semblance of what was remained.

Evander did not want his daughter to grow up in a world of darkness and despair. He did not want her to cower like a frightened rabbit, waiting for the False Rider to burn her home around her. If she chose to fight he would not blame her. He let out a sigh; she was her mother's daughter and stubborn to the end – if she chose to fight then there would be nothing he or anyone could do to change her mind. He would not stop her. He would be proud of her if she chose to fight a war she knew little about; but that didn't mean he wouldn't do everything he could to end the war before Arya grew old enough to want to help.

"Your mind seems intent on troubling you this day," Oromis spoke then. "What now is it upon your thoughts?"

"My daughter."

Oromis gave a small smile. "She is never far from any of our thoughts."

"No," Evander agreed. "Arya will make us all proud, I see that much in her."

Turning back to look at Oromis, he watched as the Rider sat back in his seat and placed the palms of his hands down flat on the table. "What do you want, Evander Könungr?"

_What do I want?_ "All I want," he said in a low voice, "is for her to be happy. For her to know peace – true peace, not this illusion we have hidden ourselves in. I want for her to grow up safe and without fear; fear of oppression and fear of destruction … is that too much to ask?"

"Depends who you ask it of," Oromis told him gently. "Too much to ask of anyone but yourself; you know what you want for her and only you can give that to her."

"I have told the court we must march on Ilirea before the False Rider grows any stronger, but they insist on deliberating and voting and discussing it."

"Why have you given them the choice?" Oromis asked. "You are the king; if you decide you are marching with your army upon Galbatorix then you will march and your subjects will follow you or be branded as traitors."

Evander sighed, "I could order them," he agreed, "but I would rather have their willing cooperation than their forced alliance; if I force them to march then they will be more likely to turn tail and run the moment we come up against the Wyrdfell."

"There is that," Oromis agreed, before sighing and getting to his feet. "Drag your child out of the water, Evander, and I shall find us some lunch." Evander watched as he walked steadily into his hut and out of sight before getting to his own feet and heading over to where Arya was determinedly trying to catch a frog.

Chuckling at her expression of disappointment, the king squatted down beside her and watched Arya attempt again. When she failed, Evander rolled his eyes and studied the wet muck that once was a grassy stream bank for the frog; he reached out his hands and snatched the slimy thing off the ground and into his grip. "Hold out your hands," he instructed Arya and she did as she was told, her little hands held out to him at least a foot apart with her fingers spread wide. "Not like that, silly, like me," and he showed her what he meant and nearly let the frog escape when he did – which made his five year old daughter giggle. Arya held out her hands – fingers closed and cupped together this time – and Evander deposited the frog into her hold.

"It's slimy!" she said in outrage and promptly dropped it on Glaedr's snout. He seemed just as amused as Evander was with Arya's shock that the frog wasn't that nice to touch and hold. Evander scooped her into his arms and stood up. He had a feeling Arya wouldn't go trying to catch frogs any time soon. "Put me down!" she protested as he carried her over to the table where Oromis had just finished laying out bread and cheese and fruit and a clear jug of freshly pressed apple juice.

"Ebrithil Oromis has invited us to share his lunch," he told his wilful daughter, "so if you intend to run back to the stream and play in the muck then no, I will not put you down." Arya huffed and crossed her tiny arms across her chest as she stuck out her lower lip and sulked in his arms. With a few murmured words, Evander cleaned the mud off Arya's hands as he sat her down on the extra chair Oromis had carried out; a couple of cushions had been placed on it so Arya could reach the table with relative ease.

She was glaring at her father for daring to interrupt and pull her away from her games, but the manners and etiquette that Arya was being raised with forced her to stay in her seat – although Evander suspected her willingness to stay put was more out of the hopes Oromis might tell her a story or three. Just as Oromis took his seat after slicing the fresh loaf of bread he'd baked that morning in to thick slices, a rustling of leaves alerted the three of them to an intruder. Glaedr lifted his gigantic head and gazed at the forest until he gave a snort and laid his head back down on the grass. Evander watched as the Rider got to his feet and hurried back inside his hut; turning back to the forest edge, he saw his queen emerging from the pines with a look in her eyes that told him she was the bringer of ill tidings.

Apparently manners and etiquette didn't apply when one's mother appears because Arya shot out of her seat and hurtled herself into Islanzadí's arms before Evander had time to blink. The tightness in Islanzadí's bearing eased as a wave of tender softness washed over her as she beheld Arya running gleefully towards her as if they had been parted for days. Evander was close with his daughter and he loved her terribly, but no bond of love could ever hope to replace, nor contend, with that between a mother and child: there was a connection that went deeper than words and feelings for the child came from the mother – belonged to the mother. Islanzadí had loved Arya from the moment she realised she was carrying her, and Islanzadí would love Arya until the ends of time. He had expressed doubt and uncertainty about his ability to be a father and if he would actually be able to do it, and though those doubts had been melted away when he'd held Arya in his arms that first time and given her her name, envy still nagged him that Islanzadí had never shown or hinted at doubt. Perhaps if he had been the one to carry her things would've been different …

Sweeping Arya into her arms, Islanzadí exclaimed appropriate chidings at Arya's ruined dress and general muckiness, all the while in a calm and loving tone. By the time she'd reached the table under the oak, Oromis had appeared with a fourth chair which Evander held while his queen sat, giving Arya a small kiss upon the nose before sending her to her own seat with the words, "You're getting too big to be sitting on my lap all the while!"

As she skipped to her seat, Evander turned to his queen, asking silently the meaning behind her bearing as she'd emerged from the forest. "There was a great deal of grumbling and not a few misgivings as you stormed out earlier."

"I'd gathered there would be – but you cannot have expected me to have stayed; someone would've gotten hurt if I had."

Islanzadí inclined her head, "I suppose you made the better of two choices; having Yendi exiled – though it would give some peace to council – would've only have led to unrest, which is the last thing we need right now. Better he be insulted at your rudeness than have him sent away where he could come back to haunt us years down the line."

Evander resolved to _do_ something about Yendi – and soon. The way the idiot was going, it was as if the fool _wanted_ a civil war. "But the vote, what was the outcome of the vote?"

Islanzadí shook her head.

Enraged, he lurched to his feet and stormed over to the stream where he stood fuming for a moment before spinning on his heel and marching back over to the table. "They voted to be coward?" he demanded. "They chose to hide here instead of living up to the names of our ancestors! Do they think the Oath-Breaker as no threat?"

"They feel he is too great a threat to face in open battle. The majority of the council seems to think we are safe here." Islanzadí reported. The king called the council a number of very nasty names that could've curdled sour milk. "Evander!" Islanzadí snapped, "I understand your frustration, but could you at least refrain from using such language in front of Arya! And I don't want to catch you using those words either missy," she added sharply to the small princess. Arya, her emerald eyes wide, nodded earnestly in agreement as Oromis gained her attention and asked what she would like with her bread.

Sighing dejectedly, Evander picked up his seat and slumped down into it. "I know war is unlikely to succeed. Especially since we have no one of strength enough to confront the False Rider … but I cannot sit her in idleness and do nothing!"

Islanzadí reached across the table and covered his hand in her own. "I know, my love. I know." He lifted his head and looked her in the eye for a long moment. It was only when Blagden swooped out of the sky into the clearing with his usual droll of _"Wydra!"_ that he stirred and looked away from his queen. Oromis had tactfully engaged Arya in conversation so as to stop the child from wondering at the words exchanged between her parents and what they meant, though Evander was not fooled, Oromis had been listening to every word they'd said and what the possible meanings could and would mean.

"I know how to beat him," Arya announced suddenly.

"Beat who, dear?" Islanzadí asked.

"The Oaf-Breaker."

_Oaf-Breaker?_

"You mean _Oath_-Breaker," Islanzadí corrected with a tolerable smile.

"That's what I said." Arya gave her mother a little frown; she didn't appreciate being laughed at.

"Of course you did … now what were you going to say?" Oromis interrupted before an argument could erupt. That was the problem, Arya and Islanzadí were so alike in their temperament and their thought that either they agreed upon something or they argued.

"I know how to beat him," the child repeated.

Oromis looked down at her thoughtfully for a moment, "Do you now? I wonder … perhaps my little Dröttningu, you will solve our conundrum for us; How to beat the False Rider?"

"With a promper Dragon Rider!"

"Proper," Islanzadí corrected automatically, but she had exchanged a look with Evander and Oromis both as she spoke. Arya's idea, although innocent and essentially flawless in its intent, was the only way in hoping to achieve what they wanted. The only problem was; there no longer existed any 'proper' Dragon Riders; Oromis was crippled and Glaedr disabled and the rest were either dead or part of the Forsworn … and even if the minuet chance that Brom still lived was true – he had no dragon.

"Yes," Oromis agreed softly. "A Dragon Rider would be the best way to beat him; a new hatchling that we could mould and train and nurture into someone powerful enough to kill the Oath-Breaker. A Rider worthy of the legends you so love Arya …" he trailed off gently, "but there is a small problem in that, there are no dragon eggs left, and therefore no new Dragon Rider will there be."

She looked aghast. "No more dragons?"

"No more dragons."

* * *

A/N : _okay so nothing much happens this chapter, just a bit of background setting ... but look on the bright side; you got iddy Arya!_


End file.
